


Christmas In Australia (on a scorching Summer's day)

by BrynTWedge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Australian Accent, Australian Christmas, Australian Slang, Australian Sterotypes, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Comedy, Lovely Nature, M/M, Overwhelmed Mycroft, Summer, family traditions, farm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Mycroft needs to head to Melbourne, Australia, just before Christmas. Greg decides to join, and take Mycroft to have an Aussie Christmas with the family he has down under. They knew the heat would make it hard, but they never anticipated how difficult it would be to even understand Greg’s relatives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You may need an Australian-English dictionary. Here's a good one: [http://www.koalanet.com.au/australian-slang.html]()

Greg relaxed on the couch waiting for Mycroft to get home. He was used to Mycroft arriving home late. After five years of marriage, Greg didn’t even bother with asking to be told when his husband was getting home. Only if he wasn’t coming for dinner. He heard Mycroft’s footsteps approach.  
“Good evening, Gregory.” Mycroft said cheerily as he walked into the living room.  
“Hey, Myc.” Greg said, standing and giving him a kiss.  
“I hope you weren’t waiting long.”  
“Nah, not long. Busy day?” Greg asked, pulling him down onto the sofa.  
“Not terribly, however I do have some news that you will likely dislike.”

Greg raised his eyebrow at Mycroft as they laid back on the soft material, his arm neatly lain over Mycroft’s shoulders.  
“I am required to attend a meeting on the 23rd.”  
“Why would that bother me?”  
“Because it’s in Australia. I won’t be around for Christmas this year.”  
“Oh.” Greg said, a little dejected.  
“I’m sorry.” Mycroft apologised, and nuzzled Greg’s cheek softly.  
“Whereabouts? Cause I’m just throwing ideas out there…but I have family in Australia, and every year they invite me for Christmas and every year I tell them I can’t. But maybe this year we could go? It might be nice, you know, to have a warm Christmas for once? Something different? And I kinda really want to see the big red rock.”  
“The conference is in Melbourne.”  
“Melbourne… is that near Victoria?”

Mycroft gave Gregory an unimpressed look.  
“Melbourne is the state’s capital.” He stated blankly.  
“Wait, I thought Sydney was the capital of Australia?” Greg asked, flicking his head to the side.  
“Your geography is atrocious, my dear. Melbourne is the capital city of the state of Victoria. Sydney is the capital of the state of New South Wales. Neither is the capital of Australia. Canberra holds that title. And Uluru, formerly Ayer’s Rock, is in the Northern Territory.” Mycroft said with his informing-grin.  
“Yeah, that’s all just words to me. Anyway I just know that Barry is in Victoria.”

Mycroft paused and looked pensive. He would really like to spend Christmas with his husband.  
“I… I would not be opposed to such an idea, provided your family are genuine with their invitation.”  
“Great! Yeah, they’re always pretty serious with their invitation. Barry is my cousin, we were best mates before his family moved to Australia. It’d be great to see him again. I haven’t met any of his family over there.”  
“Very well, Gregory. I will accompany you to your family’s Christmas gathering if you accompany me to Australia. But, I warn you… you may not like it there.” Mycroft said, a little begrudgingly.  
“Why? Don’t you like it? Oh…you… you can’t seriously still think of it as ‘the colonies’?!” Greg asked, bursting out into laughter.  
“Hardly. It is merely too far away for my tastes.” Mycroft stated, looking away. Greg continued to laugh.  
“It is also fraught with danger.” Mycroft defended.  
“Oh I doubt that. Everyone says it’s terrifying over there, but I mean… I doubt it’s that bad.”  
“Remind me to show you a video I remember viewing at one stage, provided you not ask me why I saw it.”  
“Alright, why did you watch it?” Greg said, beaming at him. Mycroft rolled his eyes.  
“It was something Sherlock made me watch the first time I had a business trip to Australia.”

Greg stood up, and fetched his laptop. He returned to the sofa, and put the laptop in Mycroft’s hands.  
“I have to see it now.” Greg said, still grinning. Mycroft sighed but began typing at the laptop. He wasn’t necessarily _trying_ to scare Gregory off, but he did want to make sure his husband was making an informed decision. Yes, that’s exactly what was happening.

Mycroft brought up the video, and passed the computer across to Gregory. Mycroft smiled lovingly as Greg’s grin widened, and then he started giggling. Mycroft loved the way Gregory’s hair danced when his head bopped gently to the music of the video. Once it was done, Greg just shook his head and kept laughing.  
“It might be funny, dear, but it’s all based on facts.”  
“Sure, those animals are out there, but I mean… people live there without dying from animal attacks. Surely it’s not that dangerous.”  
“It seems that you are pretty convinced about all of this.”  
“Yep. I mean, you’re undoubtedly flying first class. I could buy an economy ticket and then join you in your lap for the flight.” Greg said suggestively.  
“As much as that might be enjoyable for a few minutes, I doubt that you would want to spend 22 hours and 23 and a half hours like that, there and back.”  
“Shit, it takes that long?”  
“What did you expect?” Mycroft chuckled. “And don’t worry, I would have you accompany me in first class, my dear.”  
“Mmm… first class, eh? This is shaping up to be quite a nice holiday.” Greg said slyly, and moved to kiss Mycroft deeply. Mycroft returned it happily, humming as Gregory slid his hand up his chest.

~

Greg phoned his cousin just before heading to bed, so that it would be at least daylight for Barry.   
“Hello?”  
“Hey, Barry. It’s Greg.”  
“GREG!” Barry shouted into the phone. Greg flinched but smiled.  
“Nice to hear from you.” Greg said.  
“And you, mate! What’s the occasion?”  
“I’m just calling about your yearly Christmas invite.”  
“Aw, serious? Ya gonna come? Brilliant!” Barry all but shouted into the phone.  
“Yeah, my husband needs to be in Melbourne on the 23rd for business, and I thought I could tag along and then finally come up and meet your family.” Greg said, casually mentioning his ‘husband’ but waiting with baited breath for his cousin’s reaction.  
“I didn’t know you were married! Congrats, mate! Yeah, I’m sure it’d be fine to bring ‘im, since Mel’s bringing her girlfriend, but I’d better check with the missus anyway.”

Before Greg could say it was fine, he’d wait, he heard Barry shouting away from the phone.  
“Oi! Shazza! Greg’s comin’ ta Christmas!”  
“Finally!”  
“Yeah, I know, righ’? He wants ta bring his hubby.”  
_“More the merrier; they stayin’ in the guest room?”  
_ “Haven’t asked yet, give’s a sec.”

“You and … sorry, what’s your husband’s name?”  
“Mycroft.” Greg stated, aware of how English he was sounding compared to the Australian brawl his cousin had acquired over the years.  
“Seriously? Ha. So British. Yeah, anyway, so you and Mycroft are welcome to stay in the guest room. It’d be a bit of a drive back to Melbourne on the day, so I’d recommend it.”  
“Mycroft will probably prefer a hotel. He’s a bit used to finer things.”  
“Hotel? Finer…you… you know where I live, right?”  
“Not exactly. Rural Victoria?”  
“Yeah… tell ya what. Youse come here on Christmas eve, stay the night, and if ya like it, youse can stay longer. Everythin’ else we’ve got covered… I’ll email ya the address, ’n I’d recommend you hire a four wheel drive ta get here. I think it’ll be a nice little surprise for ya, havin’ a real Aussie Christmas.”  
“Great, um… thanks. I guess I’ll call you when we get to Melbourne.”  
“Can’t wait!” Barry said, ending the call.

Greg knew that Mycroft was not going to like Barry’s, and it seemed his wife’s, way of talking. Greg wasn’t someone who would demand properness of language, but the word ‘youse’ still ground against even him. And he didn’t know what exactly was going to be ‘surprising’ about a Christmas in Australia as opposed to in England, surely it wouldn’t be that different?


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft had been right: the flight was excruciatingly long. He’d never been to Australia, and for some reason thought that the flight would be half as long. Even when he’d read it was going to take twenty-two hours, he didn’t really have an awareness of exactly how long that was while stuck on a plane. He _really_ didn’t envy everyone in economy. The worst Greg could complain about was being bored. He caught a glimpse of what everyone else was subjected to, what he’d ordinarily be suffering as well, and instantly had no more guilt over his husband splurging for the first class ticket. It’d be agony for Greg to sit still in the same seat for eight, and then fourteen, hours straight. He _definitely_ knew Mycroft would not cope. At all.

Greg enjoyed the pampering of first class, and found himself getting pleasantly tipsy from the free alcohol. He was batted away from Mycroft’s alcove when he was getting a bit handsy, Mycroft reminding him that whilst he loved him, he wasn’t going to disturb the other patrons with a live sex show.

Finally, they arrived in Melbourne Airport. Greg had been buzzing for the entire hour preceding the landing, much to Mycroft’s chagrin. Greg couldn’t help it; he was finally going somewhere he’d always thought he’d never be able to, but had always wanted to. And, he was having a luxurious holiday on Christmas with his husband. Mycroft had rolled his eyes and called him a child, but Greg had just given him a dopey grin in response. That had earned him a chaste kiss before they departed.

Greg took one step off the plane and coughed. It was hot. Suddenly really really hot.  
“Ok, I’ve changed my mind.” Greg stated as Mycroft stepped off the plane besides him.  
“Too late for that now, Gregory. Besides, it’s only six in the morning, the sun’s barely up yet.” Mycroft said with a hidden grin.  
They walked through the corridor, sweat accumulating on Greg’s brow. He was glad that the airport had air conditioning. Being in first class, they were off the plane first, and so through security and border control quickly. They still had to wait for their baggage, but not exceedingly long.

Mycroft was obviously uncomfortable from the number of people crowding baggage claim. He subconsciously stood with his body pressed up against Gregory’s side, and walked close enough so that they could hold hands should they have desired to.  
“Did you remember to keep out your import form?”  
“Yeah. Man, they’re strict about what you can bring in here.”  
“Of course, Gregory. They have unique biodiversity here that needs to be maintained, and the ability to control what crosses the border at a much higher rate than most European countries.  
“If you say so.” Greg said, looking down over his customs slip. He’d brought some of the English sweets that Barry had enjoyed as a child for his Christmas present, some chocolates for Sharon, and a few other items that could possibly be required to declare as well. Mycroft had told him that all of the items he was importing were permissible, but he had to declare them anyway.

He walked up and handed the slip to the lady at the customs line, and she directed him to continue further. A second woman took his slip, asked him what the perishables were that he was bringing, and then told him to exit. It seemed a bit pointless, but Greg just went along with it.  
“We have a car awaiting us to drive us to the hotel in the CBD.” Mycroft stated as they were about to head outside.  
“Or, we could slum it and take the train?” Greg joked. Mycroft frowned at him.  
“Train? What train? You really didn’t research Melbourne at all, did you?”  
“Nope. Barry said I’d enjoy the surprise, and I figured you’d handle everything until we got up to his place. All I have is his address and a car booked.” Greg responded, smiling.

They stepped out of the building, and another wave of heat hit them. Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if willing his body not to sweat. Greg just groaned and hurried to the waiting sedan. As they drove out, Greg noticed a definite lack of buildings.  
“Wait, where’s Melbourne?”  
“You’re in it, dear.” Mycroft stated, looking down a the paper he’d been given.  
“But…it’s just… grass. Nothingness. Where’s the buildings?”  
“I assure you, that if you look closer, there are buildings. They are more dispersed out here. The skyscrapers will make themselves apparent as we approach.” Mycroft said, sounding disinterested, but was secretly enjoying his husband’s confusion.

It was a full twenty minutes before it started looking like an actual city outside, and not just a country town. The taxi dropped them off at the entrance to their hotel, the Hotel Windsor. It was a rather extravagant looking building, standing out from the others with its Victorian self-importance. Inside was even more lavish. Staff quickly took their luggage as Mycroft stood at the desk checking them into their suite. Greg knew he should be used to such elegance by now, having been married to Mycroft for so long, but sometimes it still surprised him. Especially since it was a new experience for him, being out in Australia, and not just the usual places they went to in London.

The suite was just as luxurious as the lobby. Greg had to resist the urge to throw himself onto the large king bed in the middle of the bedroom. The room was well lit, the curtains were blue and cream to match the patterned carpet, and the bed frame was made of a dark mahogany.  
“Lovely.” Greg stated, sitting respectfully on the bed edge.  
“Yes, indeed.” Mycroft said, his lips twitching upwards slightly as he looked at the fancy bed and his husband sitting on it.  
“So, what now?” Greg asked, rolling over and onto his belly, propping his chin up with his hands.  
“Now, we have the remainder of the day to explore the city, if you wish to do so. Or we may stay here and rest. However I would advise against that, as we should try and acclimatise ourselves to the new timezone.”  
“It’s now… hm, nine-thirty. Wait, how come we could check in now? Don’t they usually make you wait until the afternoon or something?”  
“Ordinarily, yes, however I was given special consideration.”  
“Always the special one, eh?” Greg said, grinning.  
“Well, I wouldn’t mind _resting_.” Greg said suggestively, raising his eyebrows and grinning.  
“Gregory, really.” Mycroft tutted, rolling his eyes, but smiling just the same.  
“I’ll assure you we won’t fall asleep.”  
“Is that so?” Mycroft teased, “And so I take it that means you don’t intend to exhaust me?”  
“Well, I didn’t say that…” Greg returned, patting the bed.

Mycroft rolled his eyes again, but obliged. He sat down on the bed, and Gregory leant over to drag his hands over Mycroft’s chest. He tugged him gently down onto the bed. Greg ran his hand along Mycroft’s cheek, and leant in to kiss him softly. Even after being married so long, just the soft gentle touches gave Mycroft tingles. Greg wasn’t shy about giving them, either. Greg broke the kiss and moved to nuzzle lovingly into Mycroft’s neck, planting soft kisses on the tender skin. More tingles ran down Mycroft’s spine. He then slid his hand over Gregory’s neck, and up through the short hair on the back of his head. Gregory hummed in response, and then moved to nibble gently on Mycroft’s earlobe, eliciting a quiet moan.

“Seriously, dear, if you don’t stop…”  
“What?” Greg asked suggestively, “What will happen then?”  
“I’ll be unable to contain myself.” Mycroft responded honestly.  
“And why would I want that?” Greg smirked, sitting up to look down into Mycroft’s eyes. He shuffled so that he was able to slid himself over Mycroft’s body, straddling his hips.  
“Just tell me to stop…” Greg whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. He stopped millimetres before touching Mycroft’s lips, his breath hot on the soft skin. Mycroft trembled trying to resist, and then relented. He lifted his head and kissed Gregory with a passion, sliding his hands up his husband’s sides to rest on his strong, toned shoulders.

~

An hour later, Greg and Mycroft were both dressed again. Greg had his laptop out while sprawled on the bed, and Mycroft sat in a chair beside him.  
“What are you looking up, my dear?”  
“Oh, just thought I’d better plan a little when to leave on Thursday. I know you said it was all entirely up to me, so I figured I’d try to not make it a disaster. What time did you want to arrive there, roughly?”  
“Are they expecting us for dinner?”  
“I… I don’t know, I assume so. They said to come the _day_ before, so I just guess that means we arrive in the daytime and have dinner there.”  
“Well, then I guess it doesn’t matter exactly. I suppose the real question is how much time you want to spend there with your family.”

Greg thought for a moment. That was true. He didn’t want to just show up and then leave promptly… it had been so long since seeing Barry, and he’d likely not see him again for many many years, so he was leaning towards more time there. They didn’t have their flight back until the 27th, so if they felt welcome enough there they could say for the night of the 25th and possibly the 26th as well.  
“I’d like to spend what time I could there… I don’t know when I’ll get to see him again. And I don’t want to demand all his attention while they’re trying to entertain the family for Christmas.”  
“Well, we can arrive before lunch, then.” Mycroft stated. Greg smiled.

He opened up the email containing Barry’s address. He’d been rather busy when he’d gotten it, and so not really paid that much attention to it at the time. However, now that he properly read it, he burst out laughing. Mycroft raised his eyebrow at him, in that disapproving manner that attested to his social status, which only made Greg laugh harder.  
“What is it?”  
“Just…their address.” Greg managed to say between giggles. Mycroft sighed.  
“Seriously, Gregory. You are such a child sometimes. I am aware that some of the townships in Australia have seeming strange names. A remnant of the Indigenous heritage. It is not funny.”  
Greg shook his head, still giggling.  
“No, it’s not that. It’s weird, yeah… but I’m laughing for another reason.” Greg said, biting his lip to prevent him bursting out again. It was the image of his posh husband having to say it that was funny.  
“Pass it here, I’ll pronounce it for you.” Mycroft said, bored, and reached his hand out for the laptop.  
“Just what I was thinking.” Greg said, his eyes twinkling.

Mycroft took the laptop, and then his face fell.  
“Well? How do I pronounce that, Mycroft?” Greg teased. Mycroft coughed nervously.  
“This cannot be real. Your cousin is having a joke with you.” Mycroft stated. He didn’t say anything. He just looked at the address.

 

_Cokum-Tittybong Road,  
_ _Tittybong,  
_ _Victoria, Australia._

 

“Not going to venture a guess, Mr Holmes?” Greg said, poking fun, as he indicated for the laptop to be passed back. Mycroft deftly returned it. After a moment of typing, Greg chuckled.  
“Yep, it’s a real place. But fuck, you’re right about the place names…” Greg said, squinting into the screen. Mycroft was unfazed from the swearing; he was used to it at this point. He wouldn’t go as far to say he liked it, but it was certainly part of his husband’s emphatic charm. He only ever delved into such language in particularly fervent activities.  
“Quambatook? Towaninny? Nullawil? Ninyeunook?” Greg read, straining to pronounce them even slowly.  
“What on Earth are you saying?” Mycroft asked, mostly because the syllables were so drawn out he couldn’t tell where one word ended and the next began.  
“The place names just around Tittybong.” Greg said shrugging.  
“Just put …the destination… into the GPS. You don’t have to worry about navigating around the towns.” Mycroft said as if it were obvious.  
“You can’t even say it, can you?”  
“Say what?” Mycroft feigned ignorance.  
“Go on, say the address.”  
“There is no point.”  
“Oh, there’s a point. A very good point. Should I ever need a laugh, I can remember your face when you say it.” Greg teased, beaming. Mycroft just grunted at him and looked away, into his phone. There was a silence between them, until Greg shouted out another profanity. Mycroft raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Just…it’s gonna take three and a half hours to get there. It doesn’t look that far away.”  
“Do you not take notice of the scale when you read maps, my dear?” Mycroft asked, glad to poke some of the fun himself.  
“Wait, so … the red rock… we won’t be able to just go drive and see that?”  
“Heavens no, Gregory. Uluru is… at least a three hour flight, or a twenty-five straight hour drive away from here.”  
“Aw, well that’s disappointing. Never mind. If we leave at eight in the morning, we’ll be there at lunchtime.”  
“Very well,” Mycroft stated with a nod, “You should call him to confirm.”  
“Soon.” Greg said, stretching out on the bed.

They discussed potential activities for the day, and then Greg called his cousin. He asked if there was anything Barry wanted him to bring from Melbourne, and if there was anything he should go any see while Mycroft was busy tomorrow. He was instructed to visit a chocolate shop, Haigh’s,  and buy a bag of milk chocolate pastilles for Sharon. Barry recommended that Greg get something for himself and Mycroft while there, particularly if Mycroft liked chocolate. Other than that, Barry just told him to catch a tram about to see the city. His cousin really didn’t care much for city sights.

Lunch was wonderful; Mycroft took him to sample some fine Cantonese cuisine. It wasn’t much like the Chinese take-aways he was so fond of ordering back home; it was great, but it was a lot more elegant than Greg had anticipated. Greg guessed the Chinese food in his normal price range would be closer to what he was used to. There were so many more options for different kinds of Asian food in Melbourne. And it wasn’t just a variety of Asian cuisines either… there was food from all kinds of places. If one couldn’t tell that Melbourne was multicultural by the people walking about, it was from the availability of the food. Mycroft had asked him to search for a cuisine he’d like to try for lunch, since Mycroft had already selected a restaurant for dinner. Greg didn’t know that ‘Ethiopian’ food was even a thing until he’d seen it listed on his computer. In the end Greg had just asked for ‘Chinese’ (which was apparently Cantonese) to avoid choosing between the many options that interested him as seeming different from what he could get back home: Korean, Vietnamese, Filipino, Malaysian, Indonesian, Sri Lankan… the list continued.

Dinner was promised to be unique. They had to be driven a fair way out of the city, but it seemed that Melbourne stretched on for ever. The tall buildings were restricted to the central CBD area, but the actual townships just kept going. The tram network was rather impressive, and Greg made a mental note to not wander out too far while exploring or he might never find his way back.

The place was called ESP, or Estelle by Scott Pickett. On first glance, it wasn’t somewhere that he expected Mycroft to take him. It was upmarket, that wasn’t in question, but it was … different. More of an alternative fancy than the traditional kind that Mycroft embodied. Greg had bit his tongue and not asked the few questions trailing through his mind. He realised the purpose for Mycroft’s choice, however, upon looking at the menu. It was an eight-course tasting menu featuring Australian cuisine.

“They eat wallabies here?”  
“Kangaroo is a reasonably common meat here, given its availability. It is lean and rich, and environmentally quite acceptable; there is nothing wrong with it, ethically speaking, especially in consideration to other meats. A wallaby is essentially a small kangaroo.”  
“And what is ‘barramundi’?” Greg asked, frowning at the menu.  
“A fish species. You will find out what it’s like when you are served it, as I’m assuming you don’t wish to know about the fish itself.” Mycroft mused while sipping a glass of wine. There was wine prepared to match each of the courses, and so Mycroft tried not to drink too much before starting.

Greg thoroughly enjoyed the meal. Mycroft was pleased with the small portions, but Greg noticed that he was eating more than normal overall. He decided he quite liked the wallaby, and the barramundi. The prawns were gigantic, and also very tasty. Even though he’d almost gotten used to eating out at more exclusive establishments after being married to Mycroft (or, as Greg likes to tease sometimes, ‘Her Majesty’) for so long, he still was able to appreciate the fine food. Growing up on the poorer side never really leaves a person, which Greg always thought of as a good thing. It only sometimes caused problems with Mycroft’s affluence, where Greg would think of something as not worth the money, and Mycroft not really understanding what he meant.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg was driving, of course, and Mycroft sat beside him. It took a good forty minutes to get out of ‘Melbourne’, the last of what looked like it was part of the suburbs. And then there was… not much. It was indeed very sparse. The sun was shining down brightly, or rather… furiously, and causing the yellow grass in the fields to look alight. Greg had worked out the day before, while out without Mycroft, that the sun was brutal. He could feel it stabbing his skin. He’d not really experienced that before; in England, it got hot sometimes, but it wasn’t the same. He’d never stood in the sun and could feel the UV rays piercing him. He bought a large bottle of sunscreen to bring with them… Mycroft was pale, and and while he himself would tan a little before burning, Mycroft would turn into a lobster before long.

He eyed his husband sitting beside him, enjoying the air-conditioning of the Land Rover they’d hired. It was 32 degrees in the city, and Mycroft was still in his suit. He’d taken off the jacket for travel, but he was still sitting there in a  white long-sleeved shirt and a waistcoat. It only seemed to get hotter the further north they went, and so Greg worried a little for him. He’d packed an extra pair of shorts and a shirt for him, since he knew that Mycroft refused to bring such clothing, but Greg wanted to be prepared. If it came to a choice of being naked or in shorts, Mycroft would probably chose the shorts. Greg chuckled as he remembered the conversation.  
 _“You’re not bringing shorts?”  
_ _“How quixotic.”  
_ _“What? But seriously, no shorts to summer in Australia?”  
_ _“I will not degrade myself in such a manner, Gregory.”  
_ _“Degrade? It’s just trousers without legs.”_  
Greg still didn’t know what ‘quixotic’ meant, but had just smiled and rolled his eyes at his husband’s stubbornness. 

The longer they drove, the more remote they found themselves. Mycroft was starting to feel rather uncomfortable by the lack of civilisation. For a large section, there was just forest. Large expanses of fields, scraggly eucalypts covering the countryside, rolling hills covered in exposed rock and grass. There were occasionally some houses, but the biggest shock to them both was how dead everything looked. The grass was brown and dry, the ground that was exposed was dusty, and the trees were brown-grey and looked like they were shrivelling in the heat. There wasn’t anything ‘green’ about, particularly after they passed the half way point. It all became flat, sparser, inexplicably drier, and so hot that the heat warped the air.

“I didn’t realise your cousin lived in the desert.” Mycroft grumbled, trying to avoid the sun that was shining through the window.  
“He doesn’t. It’s supposed to be a farm.” Greg said, and Mycroft frowned at him.  
“You never said ‘farm’.”  
“I didn’t think it mattered? Why, are you afraid of farms?” Greg chuckled, but then stopped when Mycroft remained serious.  
“Wait, are you?” Greg asked honestly.  
“I am not _afraid_ of them, Gregory. I just… dislike them. They are dirty and dangerous.”  
“You spend your days preventing wars, you have more security than the Prime Minister…and you’re calling a farm dangerous?” Greg laughed.  
“I am not fond of… cows.” Mycroft mumbled awkwardly.  
Greg really wanted to make a joke, but he could tell his husband was not in the mood for it. He could understand his dislike of dirt and manure, even a general dislike for animals, but a fear of cows specifically? Deciding to be mature, Greg asked him about it calmly.  
“Why don’t you like them?”  
“They are just like humans; they follow a hierarchy within a herd, but are willing to team up against an enemy, they can be unpredictable, defensive, and large enough to trample one to death with ease.”  
“I don’t think a cow is going to trample you to death, my love.” Greg said, turning his eyes from the road to look at Mycroft. He indeed looked uncomfortable.  
“So… that video you showed me about all the dangerous animals in Australia… that was you being genuinely afraid of them and trying to get me to reconsider?”  
“I had hoped the humour of it would mask my intent. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be afraid of things that can kill you.”  
“True, but it’s not like there’s going to be a big shark out here.” Greg commented, remembering the video.  
“No, but the Eastern Brown Snake is everywhere here. As are the spiders.” Mycroft said, shuddering. Greg nodded. He knew Mycroft was arachnophobic. He tried to hide it well under a calm demeanour, but Greg had found himself coming to aid his damsel in distress on more than one occasion from a tiny black spider in the kitchen or bathroom whilst Mycroft was decidedly perched far away off the floor.

“It’ll be ok, my dear. To be honest, I’m more concerned about you getting heat stroke than getting bitten by anything poisonous.”  
“Venomous.”  
“Huh?”  
“There’s a difference. I believe you’d best understand it thus: something is poisonous if it kills you when _you_ bite _it_ , something is venomous if it kills you when _it_ bites _you_.”

Greg burst out laughing. Mycroft tried to insist that it was not an entirely accurate description, but Greg appreciated his attempt of making it understandable. They were almost there, according to their GPS. Where exactly ‘there’ was, neither of them could tell. It was desolate and dry, and Greg was beginning to think Mycroft’s earlier comment was holding some ground. It did look like a desert. There were some gum trees lining the road, occasionally, but apart from that… it was just flat and empty. The fields had gradually become more dirt than dead grass. The navigator informed them that their turn was coming up, but Greg couldn’t for the life of him tell where it was. All he could see was the same straight (presumably, the distortion made it hard to tell) road continuing. He wasn’t sure if that was just a result of being on the monotonously straight road for so long that he’d lost the ability to see anything else. He missed the simple things…like turning the steering wheel, seeing buildings and trees. Still, he slowed down and noticed that there was a left turn indicated by a sign.

“Erg, and now a dirt road? I can see why your cousin suggested four wheeled drive.” Mycroft grumbled, crossing his arms.  
“There’s dirt roads in England. Most farms have them.”  
“Yes, but they’re not orange.” Mycroft stated. Greg admitted it was a rather bright colour for a dirt road, but he’d seen pictures of the vibrant red roads in Australia and so wasn’t surprised by it. Mycroft was just generally grumpy. Greg was surprised at how corrugated the road was, and how hard it was… causing the contents of the vehicle to shake horrendously. Thankfully, they didn’t have to drive along it for long before finding the gate to the farmhouse.

It was larger than expected. It was made of wooden boards, ‘weatherboard’ as Mycroft said, that had paint starting to peel. There was a large shed just besides the house. It reminded Greg of the scenes in a few of the horror films he’d watched, and so was a little cautious about approaching. They pulled up near the front of the house, and saw Barry and Sharon standing on the porch waving at them. They both were wearing flannel checkered shirts with the sleeves rolled up, shorts, and the broad brimmed hats Greg associated with farmers.

Greg got out of the car and instantly felt the heat wash over him. The sun seared his flesh, the hot air choked him, and he instantly started sweating. And he was wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts. He looked over to Mycroft, whom had gotten out of the car as well, and worried for him. There was no way he’d be able to stay wearing what he was. And yet, incredulously, Mycroft opened the rear door, fetched his jacket, and proceeded to put it on. Greg realised his jaw was gaped open at the sight. Barry and Sharon also seemed to find it strange, turning and giving each other looks.

After collecting their bags, they hurried to the shade of the verandah and were greeted warmly by the couple standing there. Barry hugged Greg tightly, and introduced Sharon (despite them having spoken numerous times), and then Greg introduced Mycroft to the pair of them. Mycroft smiled graciously, but Greg could tell he was struggling. He was sweating a lot more than normal, and more than Greg.  
“Myc, you should really change.” Greg spoke with hushed breath as they walked into the house.  
“I refuse to meet people otherwise.” Mycroft uttered in return, and wiped the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief.  
“Fine, but if you get heat stroke, I’m stripping you regardless of who’s there to see.”  
“You wouldn’t dare.” Mycroft said in his threatening tone, but Greg just sternly looked back into his eyes.  
“I would do anything to save your life, including killing your dignity.” Greg stated firmly, and then looked away. Mycroft groaned softly, knowing that he would need to watch himself closely to ensure Gregory’s threat wouldn’t become an actuality. 

The house was, by Mycroft’s standards, unremarkable. It was at least nicer than the outside suggested. They were given the tour of the rooms, and Mycroft was having slight trouble understanding them. His whole body tensed upon the first instance of the word ‘youse’ being used, and Greg eyed him with amusement to see all the subsequent shudders that racked his posh husband’s body from the term. The guest bedroom was small, but had enough room for a closet and a double bed that had been done up nicely.  
“We’ll let youse get settled a little, get changed inta somethin’ more comfortable.” Barry said with a smile, nodding in Mycroft’s direction. Greg thanked him, and then walked into the room with Mycroft as Barry shut the door.  
“Your cousin has certainly embraced the rural Australian lifestyle.” Mycroft breathed, sitting down on the bed.  
“Mycroft, please take off your suit. You know I love you in them, but it’s just inappropriate here. You won’t be meeting anyone until later, so please… put on the clothes I packed you.” Greg pleaded, unzipping his bag and revealing the shirt and shorts he’d packed. Mycroft shook his head.  
“Surely they have air conditioning here. I would prefer to stay inside anyway.”  
“Fine, but take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves at least, love.” Greg asked, and was glad that Mycroft obliged. Greg then pulled out the gifts that they’d brought, and opened the door to re-enter the living room. Mycroft followed behind him closely; he was still rather uncomfortable being in a stranger’s house. 

“Youse want a glass of water?” Barry asked, holding up a glass.  
“Yeah that’d be great, thanks.” Greg said, and Mycroft nodded in agreement. Barry took a bottle out of the fridge and poured one for them each. Greg put the presents he’d brought under the decorated plastic pine tree in the living room.  
“Hey, if there’s anything meltable in those, you’d better give’m here ta put in the fridge.” Sharon said to Greg, who then passed her over the wrapped presents of chocolates. He noted that they already felt rather soft.  
“Ya know, you’re not what I expected from Greg’s husband.” Barry said, passing the glass to Mycroft.  
“Most people say that about both of us.”  
“Yeah, nah, it’s no problem or anythin’. Just sayin’. Hell I didn’t think I’d end up out here meself, but here I am. Ain’t that right, Shazza?”  
“Hehe, yeah. You just fell in love with the place. Can’t say I blame you… I mean, who wants to spend their lives ‘round a filthy uncaring city? When out here ya can be yaself, ya got space to do what you want, ’n there ain’t no neighbours to speak of ta bother ya.”  
“It seems dreadfully isolated.” Mycroft commented.  
“Nahh, you get used to it. Then you find it peaceful. Dunno if you’ve ever been outta the city like this before, but it’s worth it, trust me. Calm. Nature. An’ if there’s one thing you gotta see before you go, it’s the sunset. Tonight’ll be a ripper no doubt, so we’ll go out in the ute into one o’ the paddocks. Or better yet, youse take the ute, I’ll hang back on the four wheel. It’s bloody romantic, you’d want some time ta yaselves. Take a blanket.” Barry said with a wink. There was something in his voice that said it was not optional.

“So, when does everyone arrive?” Greg asked, changing the subject. Mycroft blushing wasn’t something he needed to do in this weather.  
“Owr, not till tomorra. Got the kids comin’ in early… they’re over in Kerang with their Nan ’n Pop for tonight. They’re a bit old ta be comin’ out here fa lunch.”  
“Oh, so, the main meal you celebrate is also a lunch?” Mycroft asked, curious.  
“Yeah, usually have a big barbie with the family. Then the kids do their presents, ’n it’s all done by dinner time.” Sharon said, hand outstretched to take Mycroft’s glass and refill it.  
“How many children are you expecting?” Mycroft wondered, trying to prepare himself.  
“Geez, um… well if ya count our kids as ‘children’, then theres… Mel, her girlfriend, Johnno, his wife, ’n Tommy; then there’d be Shazza’s brother Jacko’s two kids, Shazza’s sister’s kids - there’s four of those, ’n what, two of them are bringin’ their partners?” Barry said, turning to Sharon.  
“Yeah, and Kazza’s bringing the bubba, so there’s another.” Sharon said, both of them oblivious to Mycroft going pale. Greg stepped closer and held his (sweating) hand.  
“So all up there’s….” Barry said, looking up to the roof to count.  
“Fourteen.” Mycroft stated. Barry tilted his head at him.  
“Mycroft’s a genius.” Greg stated, rather proudly.  
“That was hardly a feat worthy of the title, Gregory.” Mycroft chided, but was happy none the less.

Greg and Mycroft took a seat on the couch as their hosts continued their preparations. Greg commented in a low voice that he barely could understand what was being said, and was surprised at Mycroft agreeing with him. Mycroft was also not impressed with the shortening, or sometimes lengthening, of names.  
“It’s just somethin’ we do, here, mate. Shows affection.” Barry commented, and Mycroft jumped. He’d not been aware that they were being listened to.  
“You have certainly acclimatised yourself to the local vernacular.” Mycroft said, and Barry shot a confused glance at Greg.  
“You speak like them.” Greg explained. Barry then smiled and nodded.  
“Your erm ‘vernacular’ has definitely expanded, Greg.” Barry said, and Mycroft’s eye twitched.  
“Vocabulary, you mean.” Mycroft stated. Both Greg and Barry laughed, but it was a little bit strained. From the conversation so far, it was apparent that Mycroft was not going to enjoy the following day.  
“Why do you let it be so hot inside?” Mycroft asked after they stopped laughing at him.  
“Don’t have a choice with that mate, if it’s thirty-six outside.”  
“I meant regarding air-conditioning.”  
“See that?” Barry said, pointing to the fan spinning on the ceiling, “That’s it.”  
Greg shot Mycroft a worried look, and his husband frowned. So, not going to be able to just stay inside in the cool after all.

Sharon offered to show them the shed while Barry prepared the meat, but they declined.  
“Is that where you keep the harnesses for the kangaroos?” Greg asked, sincerely. It was met with cackling laughter.  
“Oi, don’t tell me you believe that shit,” Sharon said, grinning, “We don’t ride ‘roos out here. They’re too bloody dangerous for starters.”  
“Kangaroos are dangerous?” Greg asked, shocked.  
“Yeah, what’d’ya think? Have you ever actually seen one? All claws ’n muscle, they are, ’n they ain’t afraid ta use it. Thankfully they’re generally skittish of people, but they’d kill a dog as soon as they could. They’re a bloody menace, that’s what they are.” Sharon said, shaking her head.  
“See, even the ‘friendly’ things here want to kill you.” Mycroft muttered with a frown to Gregory. 


	4. Chapter 4

The only way Greg had managed to convince Mycroft to explore the farm in the ute (which, as it turned out, was the Australian term for a pickup) was that it had air-conditioning. They’d had an early dinner, and so it was still light enough to see the fields (or ‘paddocks’, as the Australians called them) before stopping for the sunset. Mycroft had wanted to use the hired Land Rover, but Greg had reminded him that their insurance didn’t cover damage incurred off-road.

Barry had gone with them for an hour, beside them on a four-wheeler. He then left once he’d told them how to get back to the house, calling back at them to ‘have fun’ rather suggestively. Greg did actually enjoy it out there, driving where there were no roads. It was rather freeing. Mycroft didn’t seem to care where they were as long as the cold air kept coming. He was, Greg noticed, rather anxious about the fact he had no service on his phone.

Things were going alright… until a large herd of cattle started running towards them.  
“Drive, Gregory. Drive!” Mycroft snapped in a panic, and Greg couldn’t help but laugh. Greg drove, but the cattle followed.  
“Why are they following us!?” Mycroft said, straining to look at where the herd was behind them. He was rather stressed, and Greg was trying to be caring…but it was just hilarious.  
“They probably get fed from this car, Myc, so they think we’re feeding them. They’re not going to attack you.” Greg tried to placate, and Mycroft did at least stop wriggling in his seat to watch them. He winced at Gregory, and nodded gently. 

Mycroft calmed down a bit once there was some distance between them and the cows. He put his hand on his husband’s knee. Mycroft couldn’t help but notice Gregory’s lean muscled arms gripping the steering wheel, or how manly he looked wearing the Akubra hat while driving fearlessly around cattle. He coughed and shuffled slightly as the image of Gregory herding the cattle on a horse slipped into his mind. Gregory smiled at him with a twinkle in his eye, as if he’d noticed Mycroft staring at him. Mycroft pretended he was entirely innocent, and looked out of the window.

Greg chuckled as Mycroft looked away. He could tell something had aroused him, but didn’t bring it up. He did, however, flex his muscles… just because he enjoyed a bit of teasing. They drove a bit further in silence, until suddenly there was an ear-piercing scream. Greg jumped, adrenaline surging through his veins, as Mycroft clawed at him. The sudden impact of Mycroft against him made Greg jerk the steering wheel. The ute came to a halt as it hit a ditch, thrusting both of them forward. Mycroft was still desperately trying to occupy the driver’s seat, and Greg looked over and found out why.

A giant hairy, brown spider had crawled out of a space on the dashboard in front of Mycroft. It was large enough to even make Greg unnerved… he’d never seen a spider that large before.  
“Kill it, kill it!” Mycroft shouted, his voice high pitched.  
“With what?” Greg snapped back, trying to unbuckle himself amidst his husband’s frantic grasping hands.  
“I don’t care!” Mycroft shouted, trembling. Greg finally managed to unbuckle himself, and Mycroft did the same.  
Greg turned off the engine and opened the door to walk around the car, and Mycroft took the opportunity to slide as far away from the spider as possible. Greg was hesitant to touch it. He didn’t know if this was one of the dangerous ones or not. Back in England, he’d just capture the spiders and put them outside. Sometimes he’d just pick them up. But this time, he elected to use a stick he found on the ground, and use that to move it outside of the vehicle. Mycroft flinched a few times as the spider ran towards him, but eventually Greg managed to get it on the stick and outside. 

The effect was immediate; Mycroft returned to his calm, collected demeanour the moment the spider was out of the ute. Greg shook his head softly, and then went to inspect the damage. It didn’t look too bad, but both of the wheels were stuck in the ditch. Greg was a little out of his depth in this situation. He rejoined Mycroft inside.  
“I don’t know how to get it out.” Greg confessed. Mycroft admitted he didn’t either.  
“I guess we’ll just have to wait here until we’re rescued.” Greg stated, sighing.  
“That could be hours! We’ll boil!” Mycroft snapped in a panic.  
“Well, would you rather walk back to the house?” Greg asked pointedly, as they were several kilometres away. Mycroft looked outside, and remembered the cows were out there, and so shook his head.  
“At least here, we can have the engine going for the air-con until the sun goes down.” Greg said, and turned the engine back on. He did give it a few attempts of breaking free of the ditch, to no avail.  
“Sunset should be within half an hour.” Mycroft stated. Greg nodded, and they sat there waiting. 

As soon as the sky started to go red, Greg managed to coax Mycroft outside. They were facing east, and so were unable to see the supposed amazing sunset. Greg helped Mycroft up onto the tray, and then they both sat on the roof with their legs dangling down onto the tray. Mycroft reached out and took Gregory’s hand gently.  
“It is beautiful.” He stated.  
“Yeah, it is.” Greg responded, looking between the sky and his husband.  
   
The entire sky, previously a bright blue, had been set alight in blazing reds and oranges; the tips of the few clouds that were there breaking the gradient with a searing bright yellow. The landscape was dark, flat, and dotted with the occasional tree. It was like looking at a movie, or a photo. There was just nature as far as the eye could see, and the glow of the slowly setting sun.  
“You don’t get things like this back home.” Greg said absent-mindedly.  
“No, indeed not. I did not think witnessing it with my own eyes would be this enjoyable.” Mycroft stated, leaning against Gregory.  
“Perhaps it’s the company.” Greg quipped, but Mycroft nodded sincerely.  
Greg turned his head to nuzzle against Mycroft’s cheek, and then kissed him softly. It was slow and tender, with Mycroft raising his hand to run it through Greg’s hair. The gentle cool (well, cooler, at least) breeze was welcomed, and the deep gold glow from the dying light shone against their faces. Mycroft broke the kiss to stare into his husband’s eyes, admiring the way the sun’s final rays ran along the curves of his face.

They remained sitting there for some time, kissing softly. They didn’t realise that it had gotten rather dark once the sun slipped below the horizon.  
“Mycroft, look.” Greg whispered, and indicated upwards. Mycroft let his eyes trail up, and then he saw it. The stars.  
“Wow.” He breathed, not usually one for exclaiming such.  
“I’ve never seen so many stars.” Greg breathed.  
“Nor have I. I don’t usually find myself outside in a position to notice.”

They laid back on the roof, not caring about dents (the ute had plenty of them, and Barry had told them not to worry if they bumped into anything), and looked up at the night sky.  
“It’s different than home.” Greg commented.  
“Of course, we are in the southern hemisphere. If you look over that way, you can see the Southern Cross. It is a constellation called Crux, and often is associated with the Southern Pointer stars within Centaurus.” Mycroft said, pointing out the large grouping of bright stars in the sky. He then proceeded to tell Greg how to use them to find South. Greg hadn’t expected Mycroft to know anything of the sort, but continued to hold his hand and be happily informed. Gazing at the stars with Mycroft was something he’d always wanted to do, but assumed he’d never have the chance. Mycroft wasn’t an outdoors-y person. He honestly hadn’t felt this content in a long time. He pondered as he absorbed the thick blanket of glittering lights stretching across the sky. Sure, the heat was awful, but he was starting to see Barry’s point about the peace.

Thankfully, Barry had found them a few hours later. At least they were content just talking and occasionally kissing under the stars, on the roof of the ute. Barry managed to help get the car free, and had a good laugh at how they’d gotten stuck. He seemed happy that they’d noticed the stars, commenting to them that ‘ _it’s magic, isn’t it?_ ’

~

They slept soundly enough, despite it still being too warm to sleep properly. When Greg woke, he kissed Mycroft gently and wished him a merry Christmas. Mycroft returned both the kiss and the sentiment. Greg knew that it was going to be a trying day for him. They dressed quickly — Greg managing to convince Mycroft to wear just his waistcoat with rolled sleeves like the previous day— and entered the living room/kitchen area. They were greeted by both Sharon and Barry, both seemingly having been up for some time.  
“Merry Christmas, sleepyheads.” Sharon said.  
“It’s only… 9 am.” Greg said, but was then promptly reminded that they were living with farmers who rose at dawn.  
“Yeah. Well, people are gonna start arriving in an hour. Fair warning: Shazza’s family are a bit bogan.” Barry said seriously. Mycroft and Greg just blinked.  
“Um… like… an Aussie redneck, if you know that? Unrefined, often derogatory, drink a lot…” Barry explained, and Mycroft gave Greg a worried glance.  
“Don’t worry, I don’t think they’ll be targeting you… but they’ll probably be a bit loud and insulting without realising it. Especially to the more upper class of us…”

Greg was glad that the day was turning out to be a lot cooler than the previous one. It was still unbearably hot, but only going to be thirty degrees as opposed to thirty-six. It did make a big difference. Barry and Sharon were preparing salads in the kitchen, but refused any help. So, Greg just cuddled with Mycroft on the couch while it was still cool enough to touch. 

Before long, the doorbell rang, and in rolled a family. They were all dressed in scant clothing, most had tattoos, and one carried a bag of presents, the other a large blue box with a white lid.  
“Bazza! Shazza! Merry Christmas!” The father said, throwing his arms in the air.  
“Jacko! Good to see you, and Kristi and the kids of course.” Barry said, and was met with a chorus of ‘ _Merry Christmas_ ’ in response.  
“Brought a slab of stubbies in the esky, just leave it out on the deck?” 

Mycroft and Greg looked at each other questioningly. Neither knew what the words meant. As the conversation continued, they got the feeling that they weren’t going to be part of many conversations.  
“Crickey, you’re the pommy blokes, yeah?” Jacko said, standing in front of them.  
“Yes.” Mycroft hazarded. Jack outstretched his hand for them to shake, and so they stood in unison.  
“Greg.”  
“Mycroft.” Mycroft was tempted to use his surname as well, but suppressed the urge. It would be too formal. His name received a snort, but the man shook his hand anyway.  
“I’m Jack. That there’s Kristin.” He said, indicating over to his wife, whom seemed to have no interest in meeting them. Jack didn’t seem to mind, and so sat on the chair in the lounge as Mycroft and Greg seated themselves back on the couch.  
“So, you’re finally here for Chrissy, eh? How ya findin’ it, out here in Woop-Woop?”  
“Hot.” Greg responded, and Jack chuckled.  
“Well, least ya came. Bazza’s been givin’ us an earbashin’ bout it for weeks.”  
“Oi, dropkick, go get ya mongrels outta the shed.” Sharon shouted to Jack; it was clear that her mannerisms changed while around her brother. Jack nodded to Greg and Mycroft and left.  
“I think we need a translator.” Greg said to Mycroft, who chuckled but nodded.

It wasn’t five minutes before another group of people washed into the room. The couple that were roughly Greg’s age immediately went out onto the deck to talk with with Sharon, exclaiming ‘ _Shazza’_ rather loudly, and the young couple with a baby remained in the kitchen to say hello.  
“Hi, I’m Kelly, this is my husband Hamish, and this here is little Ryan. I’m guessing you’re Greg and Mycroft?” The woman, now identified as Kelly, said. Greg agreed and wished her a happy Christmas, and Mycroft averted his gaze from the child.  
“Those are my folks, Stephanie and Rodney…I’m sure they’ll say hello soon enough, but Mum gets a bit into Christmas with Aunty Shaz.”

Greg smiled warmly up at her, and they promptly left to say hello to everyone else. It was the first time since people arrived that Greg had understood the whole of a sentence. Just as he thought he’d found someone to chat with for the day, he heard her voice drift back into the living room, sounding just as intelligible as the rest.  
_Oh well, at least Mycroft won’t have to deal with being around a baby._

Four more people arrived, all of them young adults. He could feel Mycroft tense beside him on the couch as the house slowly filled with strange people. Greg threaded his fingers through Mycroft’s reassuringly. If everyone wasn’t so excited to meet them, and he excited in return, he would have suggested they leave already. Mycroft was becoming more withdrawn with the larger number of faces around, and the higher the temperature became.  
“Saire Bear, it’s Greg!” A high pitched squeal erupted from behind them. Before Greg could look around, there were two young women standing before them, cuddling.  
“I’m so glad ya came! I’m Melanie, and this is my girlfriend Sarah.” Melanie spoke.  
“Pfft, ya don’ have to be so formal with’em, Mel.” Sarah said with an eye roll.  
“But they’re British…” Mel countered with a frown. Mycroft appreciated the comment, but Greg was confused if that meant she felt obliged to be more proper around them, or if she was being understanding about their lack of comprehension of Australian English. He didn’t get time to ask, either, as he was suddenly being introduced to a young man by the name of John and his wife, Chardonnay. Greg paused a moment to see if it was a joke, but it apparently was not. He figured he didn’t really have the right to say what was a strange name, with his husband being called _Mycroft_ and all.

Once the pair had left earshot, Mycroft leaned in to him.  
“That was her real name?”  
“You’re one to talk.”  
“My name is Old English. Her name is…”  
“French, apparently.” Greg said, stifling a chuckle. Mycroft grinned at him, despite the interruption. They quietened down as Kelly walked back into the room, now baby-less. She looked over to them and offered a drink, saying there was plenty in the esky.  
“What’s an esky?” Greg had to ask.  
“The cooler box,” Kelly grinned, “I’m guessin’ you’d like a stubby, Greg, ’n Mycroft looks like a wine guy, so I’ll fetch youse somethin’.”  
Kelly returned with a ‘stubby’ for Greg (which was thankfully a beer), and a glass of red wine for Mycroft. They both thanked her. 

“I see Mel, Saire and Johnno are here, is Macca?” Kelly asked them, but then decided to ask someone else once receiving their blank stares. Greg stood and stretched.  
“We should probably do something other than sit on this sofa.” Greg said, and offered his hand to Mycroft.  
“I don’t see why; people are perfectly happy introducing themselves as they walk past to the gathering outside.”  
“Yeah, but we came to get to know my family.”  
“I see. Very well.” Mycroft said begrudgingly, and Greg knew that he was thinking of things that Greg would now be required to do as payment for Mycroft’s participation in this family meeting. They were met by an onslaught of different conversations, and they weren’t sure exactly who was saying what.

“Kazza, Haim, the bub’s a beauty.”  
“Ranga’s got a job at the servo.”  
“Where’s that banana bender gone? I gotta ask her somethin’.”  
“Then the cockie flies righ’ out, fair dinkum, and so I'm flat out tryin’ ta get ‘im back in ‘is cage…”  
“Bloody oath, I’d be runnin’ ‘round like a blue arsed fly if it was me.”

Mycroft and Greg both just stood in the doorway, unsure how to proceed. Everyone was already rather vocal and lively, drinking a fair amount. Mycroft was not comfortable being _unable_ to join a conversation had he even wanted to.  
“In or out, mate. Gotta keep that fly wire shut ta keep out the mozzies ’n flies.” Barry called out to them, and so Greg nudged Mycroft forward so that he could slide the screen door shut. Figuring it was as good a place as any, they walked up to stand with him at the barbecue.  
“So, how’s it goin’ so far?” Barry asked, throwing more meat onto the grill.  
“It’s a little…overwhelming.” Mycroft states.  
“Not used ta people?” Barry asks.  
“No, I think Mycroft is more used to understanding the language.” Greg commented, and Barry chuckled.

“Dad, Macca’s here. He’s brought his dog, too.” John said from the other side of the screen, before walking off. There was a loud bark and soon enough, a dog was running around their feet, having run around the house. It was happy and lively, and seemed to gravitate to the smell of meat.  
“Should he be near you with food?” Mycroft asked, standing a little stiffly when the dog sniffed his trousers.  
“Ah, no worries, she’ll be right. He’s no trouble.” A voice came from behind them, and they turned to see the new face.  
“Tom.” The man said, smiling, offering his hand. Greg and Mycroft both shook it.  
“What kind of dog?” Greg asked.  
“He’s just a bitzer.” Tom responded. He then went to interact with the conglomeration of people standing by the table. Greg wasn’t sure if that was a real dog breed or not — the names were getting ridiculous these days.  
“Bitzer…mean’s bits o’ this, bits ‘o that.” Barry clarified.  
“Why do they call him ‘Macca’ if his name is Tom?” Mycroft asked, confused.  
“Well our last name is Mackenzie.” Barry answered, as if it was a perfectly logical and obvious explanation. 

Mycroft was careful to stand far enough away from the barbecue to avoid getting grease splatters over his waistcoat, but still close enough to appear part of the conversation with Barry. Sharon came up to her husband and gave him another beer.  
“Ah, onya, cheers.” Barry responded, raising the short-necked bottle. Greg was still fascinated at how much Barry had changed from their childhood. Aside from a few vowels here and there, it was like he’d never lived in England.  
“Do you miss it? England?” He asked casually.  
“Nah. I mean I can’t really remember it all that well… just the parts with you in it.”  
“Well, that’s good, I suppose.”  
“Yeah. It took a bit of getting used to, but after what, thirty somethin’ years, I’m as true blue as the rest o’ them.”  
“I do miss you, sometimes,” Greg stated fondly, “You will have to come and spend a Christmas with me and Mycroft at some point.”  
“Yeah, no doubt. If we can manage to get away, that is.” Barry said with a grin.

Much to Mycroft’s disdain, more people flowed in through the door. A couple, looking mid twenties, and a younger bloke, late teens Greg guessed. They immediately went to greet Stephanie and Rod, their parents apparently, and then came to introduce themselves. Mycroft was getting utterly sick of it by this point, but tried to put on his best political smile.  
“I’m Bec, this is my partner Jarryd.” The woman spoke, and they both greeted Greg and Mycroft formally. The younger man introduced himself as Gavin.  
“This has _got_ to be the last of the arrivals.” Mycroft moaned.  
“Quit ya whinging, mate.” Barry laughed, and Mycroft gave him an indignant frown. He’d like to think that he had the power to make the man disappear, but it wasn’t true in Australia.  
“It’s Chrissy, everyone comes ‘round at Chrissy… and it’s the one day of year that ya don’t bitch about it. Ya can bitch tomorrow. Besides, it’s just Spanna that’s left, and he’s always late. Nathan, Steph’s eldest. Most people call ‘im Spanna cause he’s a mechanic, but really… it’s cause he got a spanner up his nose when he was just an ankle biter tryin’ ta help fix a Commodore.” Barry said, and poured out a container of sausages onto the hotplate. Greg sniggered at the thought of Mycroft Holmes ‘bitching’. Mycroft shot Greg a look that said: _so many names uselessly filling up my brain._

Greg grabbed Mycroft by the hand and walked him over to the end of the table away from where the crowd had converged. They chatted between themselves for a while, unable to stop hearing parts of conversations from the other end of the long table.  
“Bazza, Shazza, Kazza, Gazza… my god, why can they simply not call each other by their actual names?” Mycroft moaned, “Or at least be slightly more inventive about it.”  
Greg smiled and kissed him softly on the cheek.  
“I know you’re not enjoying this, but I appreciate it a lot.” Greg uttered quietly to him. Mycroft nodded in response.

The final member of the party arrived. After some (brief, thanks to Mycroft) introductions, the younger members of the group approached them with a speaker system connected to an iPhone.  
“We wanna show ya some proper Aussie Christmas songs.” Timmo, the youngest, said. Greg smiled broadly. Surprisingly, most of the adults began to sing along with the song.

_Dashing through the bush,_  
_In a rusty Holden ute,_  
_Kicking up the dust,_  
_Esky in the boot._  
_Kelpie by my side,_  
_Singing Christmas Songs,_  
_It’s summer time and I am in  
_ _My singlet, shorts and thongs._

_Oh! Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!_  
_Christmas in Australia_  
_On a scorching Summer’s day, hey!_  
_Jingle bells, jingle bells, Christmas time is beaut!  
_ _Oh what fun it is to ride in a rusty Holden ute!_

_…_

The song continued for a few more verses, and they still didn’t really understand what was being sung. What was a ‘swaggie’, anyway? Greg liked that they all seemed to raise their beers in the air while shouting ‘hey’. Another song promptly began, and Mycroft bit his tongue not to groan. As much as he disliked the blatant butchery of classical songs (and words), his husband seemed to be enjoying them. The next one, however, was one that didn’t resemble any Christmas song they already knew. The chorus was very repetitive, but confusing:

   
_Six white boomers, snow white boomers,_  
_Racing Santa Claus through the blazing sun_  
_Six white boomers, snow white boomers,  
__On his Australian Run_

The song made a little more sense once they realised that ‘boomers’ were ‘kangaroos’ somehow. Greg seemed to be enjoying himself; he hadn’t sung carols with a group since he was little. Mycroft was less impressed and allowed one more song only.

  _Deck the shed with bits of wattle, fa la la la la la la la la_  
_Whack some gum leaves in a bottle,_ _fa la la la la la la la la_  
_All the shops are open Sundies,_ _fa la la la la la la la la  
__Buy your dad some socks and undies_ _fa la la la la la la la la_

_…_

By the time the song was over, and Mycroft had finished cringing (which many found hilarious), lunch was ready. Greg was pleased that the family seemed to be care-free: they were crass, loud, and often obnoxious, but they really didn’t give a damn about Mycroft’s antisocial behaviour or the fact that he was Greg’s husband. Everyone stood and formed a line over at the table near the barbecue, each taking a plate and some cutlery. They insisted that Greg and Mycroft go first, which left them at the front of the line. Barry stood at the barbecue, ready to hand them whatever meats they asked for, after they’d gone through and selected some of the various salads available on the table.

“Snag?” Barry asked, holding up a sausage with a pair of tongs. Greg nodded, and held out his plate.  
“Sorry we don’t have ‘shrimp’ like you were probably expectin’. That’s a thing, isn’t it, that foreigners think we do? Shrimp on the barbie?”  
“I wouldn’t know, sorry.” Greg said, shrugging.  
“That’s good then. Prawns are a Christmas thing and all, but bloody expensive to buy for all this crowd.” Barry said, coating Greg’s plate with a large steak.

Greg and Mycroft took their seats near the end of the table, and sat waiting for the rest of the guests to join them before starting. They were told to ‘bloody go for it’ before their food went cold. Mycroft quietly commented that he didn’t know how that would happen in weather such as this, and Greg chuckled quietly. Slowly the table was filled, and Greg noticed how most people doused their food in tomato sauce. Mycroft was quietly repulsed by the loud chewing noises as people continued to have conversations while eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I painted the starry night scene: [ HERE](http://bryntwedge.tumblr.com/image/168109212963)


	5. Chapter 5

Many, many questions later, lunch was finished. Greg spoke of his job, Mycroft lied about his own,  and they listened to childhood tales of growing up in Australia. Mycroft looked uncomfortable when hearing the stories of encountering snakes, and couldn’t work out why they were being told as if they were funny stories. Still, the people laughed as they described a brown snake sliding past their foot, or a red bellied black snake (shortened, of course, to ‘red belly’) appearing in their garden while weeding. In Mycroft’s opinion, a story of one encountering a brown snake in the toilet bowl (called a ‘dunny’ for some inexplicable reason) was one of nightmare, not hilarity. It honestly amazed him how lax everyone was about their safety. They sat around joking about facing down death and danger as if the fact they escaped unscathed meant there was nothing wrong or terrifying about the situation. Mycroft frowned to himself. There was ‘care-free’, and then there was ‘careless’.

“You alright, love?” Greg asked, noticing Mycroft’s stiff frown.  
“These are terrifying stories, and yet they act as if it was all fun. I don’t understand it.”  
“Well I guess it’s just normal for them.”  
“I don’t know what to make of people who are so acclimatised to having danger around them that they see it as funny when they escape it.” Mycroft grumbled, eying the group with caution. They had all returned to their mingling amongst each other, and weren’t paying Greg and Mycroft much attention anymore.  
“Sure, it’s funny _now_ , but I would reckon that they’d be scared as much as we would be at the time. Like, the time you slipped on that ice patch last winter. It’s funny as hell now, but at the time I was terrified that you’d hurt yourself.”  
“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t speak of that again?” Mycroft snorted. Greg laughed.  
“Yeah, but that’s cause you don’t want me to laugh at you falling on your arse. I was seriously concerned you’d gotten a concussion or something.”  
“I remember, you kept waking me up.”  
“You kept falling asleep.”  
“I’d been up for fourty-seven hours, of course I did. Why did you think I slipped in the first place?” Mycroft snapped back, but he was smiling affectionately. Gregory had done a surprisingly good job at cleaning up the gash on his head. Mycroft did enjoy Gregory’s care that night, despite being annoyed at the interruptions and grumbling that he wasn’t going to the hospital.

“Presents!” Barry shouted to the crowd from the living room, and everyone moved in quickly to gather around the tree. It was a tight fit. Mycroft was sure to stand back behind everyone and near the door, holding Gregory’s hand.  
“Now, youse can’t get upset at Greg for not bringing all of ya something, since I didn’t tell ‘im who’d be here.” Barry announced, smiling. Greg was rather grateful, since he honestly hadn’t brought presents for anyone other than Barry and Sharon.  
“But… they’ll just have to deal with it if youse got them somthin’!” Barry shouted, and suddenly all the room turned to face them. Greg could feel Mycroft squeeze his hand tightly.

Thankfully, the crowd returned to facing the tree, and started to collect the presents they had to hand out. Mycroft observed with interest as each family group presented a gift to the other family groups. Greg could see him filling the information away, as if it was going to be an important lesson in human behaviour.  
“Relax, Myc.” Greg whispered.  
“Christmas with family has never been a pleasant experience for me.” Mycroft stated.  
“I know, love. But they’re not angry at you, they don’t expect things from you, they’re not being overly affectionate to you… or criticising you in any way. Everyone’s friendly.”  
“Exactly. Many of them clearly don’t like each other, and yet they are capable of acting civil without incident with each other …and still enjoy themselves. They disapprove of me, but they say nothing and treat me kindly. I am not accustomed to such behaviour.” Mycroft admitted. Having known Sherlock for so long, and knowing Mycroft’s family, Greg understood why he was observing so intently. He wanted to try replicate it.  
“Why do you think they disapprove? No one has said anything…”  
“People always disapprove of me.”  
“Mycroft… you have got to stop thinking of yourself so negatively.”

Timmo and Johnno approached them with a gift from their family. The youngest handed the wrapped cylindrical object to Mycroft with a grin.  
“Merry Christmas, Uncle Mike and Uncle Greg.” They said in unison. Mycroft cleared his throat a little uncomfortably, but smiled back at them and thanked them. Mycroft attempted to undo the wrapping without tearing it, which was met with frustrated groans from the teenagers.  
“Nah, ya gotta rip it. That’s what’s supposed ta happen.” Johnno said.  
Mycroft nodded at him, and then tentatively tore the paper. He found there was something innately satisfying at feeling the paper tear at his hand. Shed of its wrappings, the present was revealed to be a jar of Vegemite. Mycroft chuckled, and thanked them again. He passed the jar over to Gregory, who was looking at it curiously.  
“I’ve heard of this stuff. It’s supposed to be disgusting or something, isn’t it?”  
“Nonsense, Gregory. It is actually quite nice. It’s similar to marmite. The trick is to have it in small doses, such as a thin layer on buttered toast. Americans taste it like it’s a jam, in large quantities, and then are understandably repulsed by it.” Mycroft explained.  
“Right. Great, something to try.” Greg grinned.

A few moments passed, and Kelly approached them with a small gift.  
“From me, Haim and the bub.” She said kindly, handing the package over. Greg took it, and then ripped the paper off it.  
“It’s lovely, thanks.” Greg said, looking at the present. It was a small gold pin in the shape of the Australia. It wasn’t something he expected to get from his ‘country’ ( _bogan? That was what Barry had said, wasn’t it?)_ family.

Mycroft received the next gift, this one from Barry and Sharon.  
“We thought ya’d like this.” Sharon grinned, passing over a small wicker basket that had several jars in it, done up in clear cellophane. Mycroft undid the ribbon holding it together, and then looked at the jars inside. They were boiled lollies. There were four kinds, all the same brand: raspberry drops, humbugs, musk drops, and peppermint drops.  
“They’re from Sovereign Hill. Traditionally made sweets. We figured ya could take’em home and eat’em slow.” Barry said.  
“Thank you, I’m sure Myc’ll love them. He’s got a bit of a sweet tooth.” Greg responded, laughing. Mycroft looked away, not denying that fact.

Greg then went and fetched his gifts: the one for Barry from under the tree, and the one for Sharon from the fridge. Mycroft wanted to follow, but chose to stay in the same spot and avoid the crowd. They were both thanked as Greg returned to Mycroft’s side. 

Mel and Sarah approached them, with a sneaky grin on their faces. They had a wrapped package in their hands. Mycroft awkwardly looked at Gregory while the pair eyed them both up and down, without a word.  
“Right, well… looks like you’re the one who’d wear this.” Mel said, still grinning, as they both handed Mycroft the present. Mycroft unwrapped it cautiously, and then froze when he saw what it was. The girls started laughing, and Greg peered over to see what it was. He started laughing as well.  
“Sorry, but Myc doesn’t wear any footwear that’s not enclosed,” Greg said to Mel and Sarah, “But I’ll give them a shot.”  
“That… is not the joke, dear.” Mycroft said, still a little uncomfortable, and passed the pair of flip-flops over to Greg. The girls laughed again, and left them to talk. Greg frowned a little, thinking, and then burst out laughing loud enough that several people turned to face him. Mycroft blushed a little and insisted that Gregory keep his voice down.  
“Haha…oh, just wait until I tell everyone you were given thongs for Christmas.” Greg said, his eyes watering.  
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Mycroft stated, his tone threatening.  
“Aw, come on Myc… what if people ask for photos? I could then disappoint them with pictures of your feet.” Greg giggled. Mycroft frowned and his eyebrow started twitching. He wasn’t sure which part of that he wanted to snap at more: the idea of other people wanting to see him in his underwear, the fact that Gregory would show them a photo of his bare feet, or the thought that his feet were a disappointing sight.  
“Hey, I was only joking, love.” Greg said, realising that Mycroft was legitimately upset. He put the gift on the table behind them with the others, and pulled him into a hug.  
“And for the record… if you were to wear a real one, I’d not object.” Greg whispered into Mycroft’s ear, causing him to choke on air.

Once everyone had exchanged gifts, they dispersed about the house. Greg and Mycroft were left with a small collection of items, and they inspected them more closely now that the commotion had died down.  
“Sherlock will be jealous.” Mycroft said while he held up the small honey-tasting set. It had five different kinds of Australian honey in small jars.  
“He likes honey?”  
“Very much.” Mycroft said fondly.  
“Great, I know what to bribe him with then.” Greg chuckled.  
“And this would have been handy to have at the start of the day.” Greg said, holding up the small ‘Australian English’ phrasebook.  
“Quite.” Mycroft agreed. He was interested in reading it later; even if he’d never permit himself to talk in that manner, he would like to at least understand what was being said. They collected the things in the Australian animal tea-towel that they’d been given (which Greg rather liked), and took them to put in their suitcase.

Once they’d reappeared, they were informed that it was dessert time.  
“More food?” Mycroft groaned, but Greg could tell he was pleased that there was something sweet on offer. They walked over to the table, and found it lined with desserts. Mycroft and Greg both stopped and looked at one in particular that they’d never seen before.  
“What is it?” Greg asked Mycroft under his breath.  
“I don’t know.” Mycroft admitted. He didn’t know absolutely everything, despite attempting to present as such.  
“It’s called a pav. Well, pavlova. It’s a meringue that’s soft inside topped with cream and peppermint crisp shavings.” Kelly explained from behind them. They each took a piece to try. The remainder of Mycroft’s plate was fruit, but Greg had helped himself to the chocolate mousse and the berry cheesecake as well. Christmas was a time to over-indulge, he informed Mycroft, as he sat with him at the table.  
“How you can eat all of that after such a filling lunch astounds me. Especially in this heat.” Mycroft muttered, and Greg just shrugged with a mouthful of pav. Mycroft smiled, and used his thumb to remove the dab of cream that was on Gregory’s lips. Greg grinned, and continued eating. The conversations were less enthusiastic over dessert than they were over the lunch. Everyone, including the baby, had mellowed down from the food. The child still screamed, but not as frequently.

“We should play some footy!” One of the boys shouted out from the table once the food had been eaten.  
“Or how about cricket? We could do England versus Australia!”  
“Nah, that’d be unfair, Macca… there’s only three ‘o them on England’s team.” John commented. Greg was about to say that Mycroft did not play sports, but the conversation continued before he got a chance.  
“Nah, we gotta get goin’.” Jack said, standing. Kristin, who still hadn’t spoken to Greg or Mycroft, stood up beside him. She called to her kids to join them, and then they all said a hurried goodbye.  
“Typical.” Barry commented, sitting beside Mycroft.  
“How so?” He asked.  
“Every year they come, drink all the booze, and then bugger off before the dishes need doing.”  
“Delightful.” Mycroft said sarcastically.

Much to Mycroft’s pleasure, more people began to leave. Kelly had to take the baby home, and John and Chardonnay needed to get up early to drive to Queensland. Rebecca and Jarryd also left, however without explanation. Greg had insisted that he help Sharon do the dishes, which left Mycroft alone with the remaining guests in the living room.

“So, how long you two been married?” Mel asked Mycroft.  
“Five years.”  
“That’s great. How did you two meet?” Mel said, oblivious to the sudden tension in Mycroft.  
“Um, through my brother.” Mycroft said, not sure just how much of the story Greg wanted his family here to know. Thankfully, Mel and Sarah didn’t prod further.  
“I bloody wish this government’d get its shit together and just legalise it here, for fuck’s sake.” Sarah grumbled. It took Mycroft longer than he was proud of to realise she was talking about gay marriage, and not marijuana.  
“It will happen eventually. And it will have been well earned.” Mycroft stated, avoiding the subject. He didn’t really want to talk politics and the intricacies involved in passing a bill such as marriage equality. He knew it would not be appreciated, even if it was they that brought up the topic.  
“Ya know, we like you.” Mel stated bluntly.  
“I… thank you?” Mycroft said, a little thrown.  
“I think most people did. You’re not what we expected, but really… Greg wasn’t either. I guess we all just thought he’d be like dad. But it’s clear you’re happy together, and that’s what matters.” Mel explained casually, unaware of how important her praise was to him. People, as a rule, didn’t like him. Hearing otherwise made him feel… strange.  
“He’s my world.” Mycroft said quietly, and the girls beamed at him.  
“It’s sad we won’t get ta see youse again. We rather like not bein’ the only gay couple in the family.” Mel sighed. Mycroft wondered if he should tell the girls that they weren’t, or at least that other members weren’t strictly straight, but felt that he should keep his observations to himself.  
“It is not a certainty that we will not meet again. And even if Greg and I are in England, we are still family.” Mycroft said with a smile, surprised at his own sentimentality.  
“Yeah, nah you’re right. Family doesn’t break over distance. I hope that we get to see youse again soon.” Mel said.

More of the crowd departed, until it was just Mel, Sarah, and Tom left. And, of course, Tom’s dog. Mycroft was much more comfortable with that number, and found that he liked the dog better once it had calmed down. It seemed that they were staying for dinner with their parents. Greg returned to his side, and gave him a quick kiss.  
“Happier now that there’s not so many people here?” Greg asked.  
“Insurmountably.” Mycroft responded with a smile.  
“All that we need is a cool change and it’ll be comfortable.” Greg joked. He threw himself down on the sofa beside Mycroft and groaned. He looked tired.   
“Have you enjoyed your day with your family?”  
“Yeah, I did. Some people drank a bit much for my taste, but everyone was civil. It wasn’t the quiet cosy Christmas I’m used to back home, but it was nice.”  
“Apparently your family like me.” Mycroft stated.  
“How could they not?” Greg teased, and kissed him again. Mycroft blushed.  
“I’ll tell you something though, the heat has really worn me out. I’m not twenty anymore. I don’t know how you’re still awake wearing those layers.” Greg moaned, wiping sweat off his brow. Mycroft wanted to comment that Greg was welcome to take his layers off, but clenched his jaw when he remembered that they were in the living room with other people just metres away.  
“You’ll feel better with the air conditioning.” Mycroft commented instead.  
“No way. No. I’m too damned exhausted to be driving back to Melbourne right now.” Greg argued, picking up on Mycroft’s hint. Mycroft frowned.  
“What? You want to stay another night?”  
“Yes. Look, unless you want to do the driving, we’re staying.” Greg said, unusually firmly. Mycroft made a pouting face, and desperately wanted to plead his case for better climate.  
“But… air-conditioning.” Was all Mycroft managed to say before Greg shook his head. Mycroft had honestly expected Christmas to be a disaster, and for Gregory to want to leave as soon as possible. Mycroft crossed his arms and stared at the tree while Greg snuck a glance his way and smirked.

Once the room had emptied, Greg shifted closer to Mycroft.  
“I’d like to go out tonight.” Greg uttered.  
“To where? We are fifty-five kilometres from the nearest restaurant.”  
“No, outside.”  
“Why?”  
“Because,” Greg said, and kissed him softly, “I want to make love to you under the stars.”  
“Oh.” Mycroft strangled out, suddenly tense. Gregory’s voice was low and seductive, and it always affected him when he heard it. His mind raced with the impracticality of it, but his body didn’t seem to care. Greg chuckled.  
“Why?” Mycroft asked.  
“Cause it was romantic. So many stars. I had a hard enough time stopping myself last night since we could have been found at any moment.” Greg admitted.  
“I see…” Mycroft said, thinking. If he was honest with himself, the thought had crossed his mind too.  
“I could tell you were interested as well.” Greg mused, nuzzling into Mycroft’s neck.  
“I… yes.” Mycroft breathed.  
“So that’s a yes for tonight?” Greg sat up, grinning. As much as Mycroft found it out of his comfort zone, he agreed.  
“As long as it’s not in the field with all the cattle.” Mycroft pointed out. Greg nodded and chuckled. 

~ 

They lay on the blanket and pillows on the tray of the ute, panting. It was a much nicer temperature during the night, which meant they weren’t opposed to pressing their bodies up against each other.  
“That was…” Greg breathed.  
“Yes.” Mycroft responded. Despite his expectations, It had been wonderful. A little awkward and uncomfortable without a mattress, but the view and the privacy had made it spectacular. Mycroft didn’t mind the isolation as much when it meant that he could let his inhibitions go and be as loud as he wanted, without the constant awareness that there were other people around somewhere. Sure, he still wasn’t as loud as Gregory often was. 

“Thank you, for this.” Greg stated, while they both stared at the sky.  
“You don’t have to thank me.”  
“Yeah, I do. Not just for the cost of it all… but for being there with my family. Our family.”  
“They were not as obnoxious as I had feared.”  
“Well… I’d say they were more accepting. Not as judgemental as the people back home. I know your family makes you uncomfortable because you’re constantly worried about their judgement.” Greg said, aware of his husband’s somewhat skewed perspective.  
“Yes.” Mycroft uttered.  
“Was it enjoyable for you? I know the crowd made it a bit much, but I mean… just being around people that didn’t care that way?” Greg pondered. He hoped that Mycroft had enjoyed himself somewhat.  
“I did. I did not enjoy the heat, or the drunkenness, but I did enjoy the freedom. I am sure you had a good time?”  
“Yes. I especially loved the novelty of it all. How different it all was to my normal Christmas. What was your favourite part?”  
“This part, right now.”  
Greg smiled, and turned to face him.  
“I’m glad.” He said, and kissed him deeply. 

“Perhaps we could visit again one day. In the winter.” Mycroft suggested once they’d broken the kiss. He loved the way his husband’s eyes sparkled at the notion.  
“I’d like that.” Greg said.  
“Gregory?”  
“Yes, dear?”  
“Merry Christmas.” Mycroft said, smiling and threading their fingers together.   
“Merry Christmas.” Greg repeated.

**Author's Note:**

> The video Mycroft shows Greg: [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wy_TB6onHVE ]()  
> It’s quite good.


End file.
